


Sherlock and Naomi

by inadaydream



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Romance, Time Skips, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inadaydream/pseuds/inadaydream
Summary: A short story that takes place in both the past and present, as we follow Naomi's relationship with the illustrious Sherlock Holmes._______________________________________________________________________





	1. Chapter 1

(Present Day)

“This was left in the entra…”  John stops talking as he crosses the threshold into Sherlock’s flat.  He looks to his colleague, not sure what to do right now as a woman has just walked into the kitchen.  Sherlock is no help, he just shrugs.  Does that mean he doesn’t know why the woman it there?

John steps further in, the package in his hand momentarily forgotten.  He stands in front of the kitchen, his back to Sherlock.  He clears his throat, and the woman glances up from spreading marmalade on a piece of toast.  She smiles at him.  She has on a bathrobe that nearly touches her knees, and her hair is slightly rumpled.

Watson shoots an uncertain look back at the consulting detective, who is pretending to read the paper, but is actually watching the scene unfold.

“I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend,” he hisses at Sherlock.  He gets no reply, so turns back around.  The woman is chewing a piece of her breakfast, as she puts the butter knife in the sink.  She looks comfortable and at home, but Watson’s never met her.

“Umm…” John starts.  “Who are you?”

“Naomi,” comes a reply from behind him.  John clenches his jaw, refusing to turn back around again.  He forces a smile for the woman, who warmly smiles back, taking another bit of her bread.

“Are you his girlfriend?”

Her smile falters and she slightly shakes her head no, trying not to glance at the person in the other room.

“But you slept here?”  Naomi frowns at him.  “That’s impolite, I know, but…” Watson shrugs, “he won’t tell me if I ask.”

She casts her eyes down, “I did.”  She takes another bite, a slight scowl still on her face.

John doesn’t know how to politely ask this, but he does his best.  “Are… are you a prostitute?”

A stifled snort comes from behind him, as Naomi’s head shoots up.  Daggers in her eyes.  “No,” she grits out.

“I did give you money,” comes Sherlock’s innocent-sounding voice.

Naomi leans a little so she can see around Dr. Watson.  “That was to repay me for buying your…”

“Money was still exchanged,” Holmes interrupts.

She comes up next to Watson who has half-turned looking between the two people arguing.

“The money wasn’t for sex.”  Sherlock raises his brows and slightly shrugs, dismissing Naomi’s argument.  “You’re an asshole, you know.  And you,” she turns to John.  “I don’t know you yet, but…” she glares at him.  She walks over to the couch and grabs a bag off of the floor, then stomps to the bathroom.

“She’s not a prostitute, is she?”

“No,” Sherlock laughs.

“Then?”

“A very angry women.”

“Clearly.  But I think that has more to do with your statement than her normal personality.”  Watson glances towards the bathroom, and drops his voice.  “So?  What?  A friend with benefits then?” he asks hesitantly.

“I suppose we could go with that.  What’s that in your hand?”  Sherlock grabs the package from John, welcoming the distraction. 

“It was in the entranceway.  Your name’s on it.  Did you order something online?”

“No.”  Sherlock checks the package, before deciding to see what's inside.  The door to the bathroom opens, and Naomi steps out looking dressed for work. 

Holmes sets the package down.  “Be back in a bit,” he says to John, who only frowns at him. 

Naomi has already moved towards the door, but seems to wait for a moment.  Sherlock steps alongside her, and they walk down the stairs together.  Hushed tones drift back up, but Watson can’t make out what’s being said.

“You let him think I was a prostitute?!”

Sherlock chuckles, his hand softly landing on her lower back as they disappear from the doctor’s view.  “Did you see his face when he caught you in my flat?”

Naomi rolls her eyes and sighs.  “Why do I put up with you?”

They step off of the stairs into the main entranceway.  Naomi turns to him.  She gently tugs a curl of his hair, letting it spring back up.  A soft smile on her face.  He leans forward and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.  She shuts her eyes and lets out a groan of frustration.  A light chuckle escapes him and he gives her a proper kiss, pulling her close. 

Naomi parts her lips letting Sherlock’s tongue slip in as she grips his arms.  A door creaks open, and they both step away from each other; mirth in their eyes.  “Good Morning, Mrs. Hudson,” they call in unison.

The elderly landlady, rounds the bottom of the staircase, peering at them.  “Good Morning, Mr Holmes, Miss Wess.”

Naomi walks away, and opens the front door.  She glances back, “and you need more jam,” she tells Sherlock.

She steps out, and leaves with a wave.

After a moment, Holmes seems to come back to life.  He claps his hands together, “Right,” and bounds back up the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson closes the front door and mumbles to herself.  “One day he might make it official.”

“I heard that,” a voice shouts back down.  “And I’ll be ready when I’m ready,” it huffs.

************

 

Watson digs through the cabinets looking for something to make for supper.  He manages to scrounge enough together to make a decent, if not proper, meal.

“Shouldn’t take but 20 minutes,” he shouts to Sherlock. 

Once everything’s cooking and nearly done, he pops his head into the other room.  “I’d give it another 5 minutes, and it should be ready.”

Sherlock only nods as he’s on his mobile.  “Yes, she’ll be gone by then.”  Silence for a moment.  “Yes, she is prettier than you.  It’s why I keep her around.”  He chuckles as John stands there trying to figure out who the caller is.  “Don’t be daft, of course you’ll be invited to the wedding.  Yes.  Yes.  Okay.”  He hangs up and looks at Watson expectantly.  “Did you say dinner was done?”

“Nearly.  Who was that?”

“Naomi,” Sherlock answers, tucking his phone away.  He stands and heads to the kitchen.

As he passes John, Watson speaks up, “So you told her another woman was here, and that you’re getting married?  Is that right?”

“Yes.  Smells good,” Sherlock replies as he picks up a spoon and stirs what’s in the pot.

“You two have a very odd relationship.”

************

 

“I found this one lurking around outside,” Mrs Hudson says as she climbs the stairs, a visitor in tow.

Sherlock sets his fork down, and wipes his mouth with his napkin before standing.  John follows suit to be polite.

“I was **_not_ **lurking,” Naomi mock-protests.

“Let me get you a cuppa,” Mrs Hudson offers.  “Then it’s off to bed for me.”

“Thank-you,” Naomi says, setting a small bag down by the couch.  “Hi, Dr Watson.”

“Hello.”

“I’m just going to use your shower," she informs Holmes.  "My sister has a friend visiting who used up our hot water.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock comments.

Ten minutes later Naomi steps out of the bathroom, just as Mrs Hudson is setting down a tray of tea.

Sherlock stands to pour them each a cup.  “None for me,” Mrs Hudson says. 

“Right,” Sherlock answers.  “There are only 3 cups here, you know.”

“Yes, but I didn’t want you to think you needed to get another,” the older woman replies.

“I wasn’t going to,” comes Holmes curt answer.

Mrs Hudson ignores his snide tone, since she’s used to it by now.  “Goodnight,” she warmly tells the others.

“Night,” Watson and Naomi return. 

“Goodnight,” Sherlock mumbles, remembering his manners.  He places a cup in front of Watson, and holds a cup out for Naomi.  She accepts it and takes a sip.

“Who used up the herbal shampoo?” she asks still standing.  She doesn’t really think Sherlock keeps women on the side, though they often joke about it.  It does make her question who would use the frilly shampoo, though.

He doesn’t answer, so Naomi looks to John for an explanation but he only shrugs, confusion marring his features.

“ _ **Well?**_ ” Naomi queries again, only to receive silence.  She takes another sip of tea trying to steal her nerves.  “I hope your girlfriend buys more then.  I liked that scent.  It was honey and aloe.”  She watches Holmes over the rim of her cup. 

He walks over, and clears his throat.  He doesn’t look at her, but leans in some, his back to John.  “I did,” he murmurs.

Naomi turns her head towards him, but he brings his cup up to his face, and looks away.

“You?” she asks, keeping her voice low, even though John can hear them.  “Why?”

Holmes sets his cup down and plops onto the couch.  Naomi and Watson stare at him.

“You haven’t come around for over a week now.  And… I missed your smell,” he trails off.  Naomi barely catches the last part.

A smile lights up her face.  She doesn’t make him repeat himself, only sits down in the chair he vacated earlier.  “Did you pick up more marmalade?”

“John?” Holmes says, redirecting the question.

“Uh… no.”

Naomi nods.  “I’ll grab some tomorrow, and some more shampoo, too.”

“Good,” Sherlock remarks.  They all lull into silence. 

While the other two don’t seem to mind the quietness, it feels awkward for Watson.  After a full minute, he stands and clears his throat.  “Right.  Well.  I think I shall head off to bed.”  No one speaks up.  “Okay.  Uh… Goodnight, Naomi.  Sherlock.”

“Night, Dr Watson.”

“John.”

Naomi grins at him.  “Goodnight, John,” she repeats pleasantly.

He nods his head at her, and exits the flat, shutting the door behind him.

“You could have told me I was interrupting,” she chastises the man on the sofa. 

“You weren’t.”

“You want your tea?”

“You can finish it.”

“Thank-you.”  She switches her cup for his.  “Did you really use the rest of my shampoo?”

Sherlock sits up and looks at her.  He steeples his fingers under his chin.  “What do you think?”

She looks at him slyly, not quite sure what to believe.  Naomi sets her cup down, and stands up.  She stretches a bit, and walks over to the couch.  Sherlock watches her, but doesn’t move.  She bends over him and sniffs his hair, then plops down next to him laughing.

He turns his head to her and quirks a brow.  “What’s your verdict?”

“Not guilty,” she chuckles.  “Also, not that I’ve never sniffed your hair before, but this… this feels a bit embarrassing.”  She smiles, but looks away.

He takes a deep breath, then leans back into the sofa with her.  He picks up a few strands of her hair and smells them.  “Not as sweet,” he comments.

“That’s because it’s yours.”

“Mmm.”  He leans closer to her, breathing her in.  She rests against him, her head on his shoulder.

“Should we move this somewhere more comfortable?” he suggests.

“I’m pretty comfortable here,” Naomi whispers. 

“You complained the last time.  Said there wasn’t enough room, and that you got a bruise.”

“Yes.  But that was because you had some small canister shoved in between the cushions, and I was pressed against it.  And…” she turns to him, “I only said it was too small afterwards, when you tried having us sleep here,” she chuckles.

“Well aren’t you adventurous.  You know the door’s not locked.”

A worried look crosses Naomi’s face as she glances towards it.  Sherlock uses the distraction to slowly push her down towards the cushions, his lips touching her neck.

“Do you think John will walk in on us?  Or maybe Mrs Hudson?”  She gently tries to shove him away.

A wicked gleam comes into his eyes as he lets her push him back just a little.  “I suppose we’ll simply have to risk it.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

(Present day)

The taxi ride is long and boring.  The first half of the ride was filled with quiet thinking and discussions about the case on hand.  Now, though, there’s a lull. 

John tries to enjoy the quiet, watching the scenery pass by.  He wonders if Sherlock is using the time to mull over some of the events of the murder.  After a while, he suspects that’s not the case since he looks as bored as John feels.

Watson clears his throat, but Sherlock ignores him.  “Umm…” he tries again.  Holmes continues to act as though he doesn’t hear the doctor.  “Look.  I know small talk isn’t really something you enjoy, but it would help pass the time,” John suggests.

Sherlock sighs dramatically.  He slumps his shoulders, and looks to his companion.  “Fine.  Let’s hear it.”

“Oh, okay.”  Watson thinks of a topic.  “How long have you been consulting?”

“A few years.  Do you require an exact date?” comes Sherlock’s dry retort.

“Uh, no.  That’s okay.”

“Good.  Next question.”

John chuckles at Sherlock’s straight-forwardness.  “How long have you played the violin?”

Sherlock sits up a bit.  “Longer than I’ve been consulting.”

“Vague.  Nice,” Watson grumbles.  “Alright.  You know why my sister and I don’t get along.  What about you and Mycroft?”

“What about us?”

“Really?“  Watson stares at him.

Sherlock groans.  “Fine.  He’s smarter than me, and I don’t like it.  Happy?”

John thinks on it for a moment, a small smile forming.  “Yes.”

“Ugh.”

The doctor chuckles and glances out the window, watching aimlessly for a few seconds until another topic crosses his mind.  He glances back to Holmes.

“Ah.  You have another deep and probing question?” Sherlock guesses.

“How did you and Naomi meet?”

A cheshire grin slowly spreads across Holmes’ face and he relaxes back against the seat.  “Now **_that_** is an interesting question. “  He suddenly sits up, his eyes alight.  “However, it will have to wait until later.  We’re here.”

“Impeccable timing,” Watson murmurs sarcastically.

************

 

(The Past)

“Come on.  I just need you to answer a few questions for me,” Naomi begs.

“I really don’t have the time, Miss Wess,” the pathologist answers.

“I’ll be quick.  Look, the more realism I can put into the story, the better it will sell.”

“I have my own things to publish.  Scientific journals help us get additional funding.  I really don’t have the time, and frankly, I’m not interested.”

Naomi drops her notepad on the counter in defeat.  “Okay.  Okay.”  She tries to sort out her thoughts.  “Is there someone who will work with me?  An expert in crime scenes?  Maybe a detective or a morgue assistant even?”

The pathologist stops moving around the lab.  She can feel the desperation coming off the woman staring at her.  She sighs, fearing she’ll regret this decision.  “Yeah.  I can give you the number of a man who might… and I mean **_might_** be willing to help you, but your stories better be good.”

Naomi takes the scrap of paper with the number and address on it.  “Thank-you.”

The pathologist shakes her head, and gives a curt wave.  Naomi smiles, grabs her things, and leaves.

She snags a cab, and decides to head straight over to the address provided; 221B Baker Street.

She pays the taxi driver, and walks up to the door.  She grasps the knocker and raps on the door, then waits.  She’s about to do knock again when an older woman opens the door.  Naomi drops her extended hand now that there’s no need to use the knocker.

She warmly greets the woman.  “Hello.  Is a Mr Holmes in?”

“He’s out right now, but you can come in and wait.  Do you have a case for him?”

Naomi follows the woman in.  “Yes,” she lies.

“He’ll be happy to hear that.  Is it a murder?  Hopefully a gruesome one at that.”

Naomi pauses on the stairs.  The elderly woman notices and turns back around.  She looks down at Naomi, and softly grins.  “Sounds odd, doesn’t it?  But don’t worry, he’ll help you.  He likes taking anything macabre.”

They continue up to the next floor, where the woman lets Naomi into the flat.  “Here you are.  I’m Mrs Hudson, the landlady.  Fancy a cuppa?”

“Why, yes, thank-you.”

“Good.  Sit here, and I’ll be right back.”

Naomi takes a seat in the wingback, Victorian chair and lets her eyes wander the room.  It’s quaint and messy. 

She sighs hoping the gentleman who lives here can help her.  She’s on a deadline.

She doesn’t meet him until a full 23 minutes later.  By then her and Mrs Hudson have finished the pot of tea, and have discussed numerous topics; from family, the recent weather, to their respective jobs, and even the man whose flat they were occupying.

Before they run out of topics, they hear the sound of a door being thrown open, followed by the quick tap of shoes running up the stairs.  Mrs Hudson gets to her feet.  She places a hand on Naomi’s shoulder, indicating that she can stay seated.  “That would be Mr Holmes.  I’ll introduce you.”

A thin man with disheveled black hair nearly bursts into the room.  He’s out of breath, and only gives the two women a cursory glance.  He heads straight to a stack of books, muttering to himself.  “I’ve seen it before, but where?”  He starts moving the books, briefly flipping through a few of their pages as he goes.  He heads to a different pile, and shuffles that one about.  Finally he spies what he’s after; a loose sheet on the floor, tucked under the edge of his desk. 

He scoops it up.  “Ah-ha!” he shouts, and spins around to face his company.  “I knew I’d seen it before.  Here, look, Mrs Hudson.”

“Hmm?  Oh, yes, the Thomas obituary.  Sad about his dog.  I do hope someone took the poor thing in.”

“Yes, I’m sure they did,” Sherlock answers distractedly.  He pulls out his mobile and makes a quick call.  When he’s done, he tells his landlady, “Good.  I think the Inspector can makes his arrests now.  And who’s this?”

“This is Miss Wess,” Mrs Hudson offers.  “She’s here to ask you a few questions.”

Sherlock looks her over.  “Not a reporter, but you do write.  Fiction?  Yes, but you’d like to add… what? more than gory details for your readers.  You want to inject some reality.  You’re in your 30s, still young, but for some reason you feel you’re past your prime.  Had to help raise a sibling?  Would explain why you feel so much older than you are.  You’re under a time limit, and wish I’d just say whether or not I was willing to help you, that way you’d know if you could leave or not.  Do you feel you’ve wasted your time today?”

He watches her.  She presents the usual body language that so many do when he analyzes them.  Her jaw clenches a few times in annoyance, and she’s narrowed her eyes at him, but they did shift away in pain? embarrassment? at one point.  He struck a nerve, which is nothing new.  _Was it about her age_? he wonders.

She takes a deep breath, composing herself before speaking up, but Sherlock cuts her off.  “Yes, I agree, you have wasted your time.”  He turns away from her, and flops down on his couch.  He covers his eyes with his forearm, and lays there; his knees slightly bent.

“Don’t mind him,” Mrs Hudson chides.  “Come.  I’ll walk you out.  Maybe try back another day,” she suggests, but Naomi shakes her head and stays put.

She leans forward a little to better study the tall man before her, who’s laid out on a sofa a trifle too small for him.

“Do you like always being right?” she asks, genuinely curious.

“Yes.”

“Does it bother you that you can’t fully stretch out right now?”

He doesn’t answer right away.  “A little,” he admits, but doesn’t move any.

“Are you annoyed that I’m in your chair?”

Now his arm drops away, and he turns his head to stare at her.  “Greatly.”

She smiles at him, it warms her eyes.

“Glad my misery amuses you.  Are you often this easy to please?” he asks.

“Yes.  It’s the little things that make me happy.  You?”

“Being smarter than everyone else makes me happy.”

Her grin widens, and she chuckles a little.  “Then will you help me?  We can put that brilliant mind on paper.”

Sherlock groans.  He turns his head away, and flings his arm back over his eyes.  “Let’s hear it.”

Mrs Hudson pats Naomi’s shoulder.  “I’ll leave you to it then.”  She grabs her tray with her teapot and teacups on it, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. 

Naomi waits until she hears the older woman’s tread fade away down the stairwell.  She then leans down and pulls her notebook out of the bag at her feet.  She flips it open, pencil in hand, ready.

“Can we get on with it?” Holmes grumbles.  He straightens his legs out a little, but otherwise doesn’t move.

Naomi smiles to herself again.  He’s definitely an interesting person.  “Of course.  As you ascertained, I write fiction, murder mysteries mostly.  I’ve done short stories in anthologies and a few magazines.  Now my publisher thinks I can do a novel.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“It’s harder than I thought.  I had a secretary at Scotland Yard help me find people to answer my questions, but now that I need more insight, they don’t have time for me.”  She pouts for a moment, then takes a breath trying to move past the emotion.  “But from what Mrs Hudson tells me, you might be perfect.”

“Mmm.  Perhaps I don’t have time for you either.”

“Perhaps…  Can I at least present my story, and you tell me where I’ve gone wrong in describing the murder scenes?”

“I’m **_not_** writing your book for you.”

“It’s mostly written, thank-you,” Naomi says tartly.  “I only need to flush it out more.”

“Being as I haven’t asked you to leave yet, I’d say you can continue.”  Sherlock swings his legs down, setting his feet on the floor.  He picks up the newspaper off of the coffee table, and starts looking through it.  “Do get on with it.”

Naomi glares at him for a minute, then goes into the premise of her book.  She lays out the main characters, who the guilty party is, how many murders there are, and how Scotland Yard is trying to tie them together.

After she tells him how the book concludes, he folds the paper up, and snorts a laugh at her.  “That was ridiculous.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.  I don’t know who’s been helping you, but I guess if your audience is stupid, that explains how you’ve been able to get away with this drivel for as long as you have.”

“Some people are only looking for a quick read.  They don’t need a lot of boring details mucking up their literature.”

“Of course.  Yes.  Who needs details?”

They stare at each other across the room, both shooting daggers at the other.

Finally, Naomi’s eyes slide away, and she sighs.  “Does it make sense that they would’ve missed the footprints the first time around?”

“Yes,” Sherlock concedes.

“Would they still be able to use them when they find them a month later?”

“The way you have it written?  Ludicrous.”

“Then what environment would I need for it to make sense?”

They continue this way for the next two hours.  As long as Naomi asks about specific scenes, Holmes begrudgingly provides her with information.  Anytime she asks for generalities, he ridicules her or the people who read her work.

Finally she’s satisfied enough with her notes.  She closes her pad, and puts her things away.  She flings her bag over her shoulder as she stands up.

“You still have holes in your story,” he points out.

“Good.  Maybe I can use that to make a sequel.”

“Conceited,” Sherlock mutters.

“Optimistic,” Naomi returns.  She smiles at him, and extends her hand.  He only stares at it.  “I really appreciate the help Mr Holmes.”  She reaches down and slides her fingers across his palm, forcing a quick, but awkward, handshake before he pulls back.

She laughs at his reaction, and exits his flat, shutting the door behind herself.  He stands there for a moment before flopping back onto his couch.  He turns his back to the room, annoyed for having helped her.


	3. Chapter 3

(The Past)

A sharp rap at the door.  A pause.  Another knock.  “Coming,” Mrs Hudson calls.  She opens the door to a woman on the stoop.  A smile brightens the landlady’s face.  “Come in Miss Wess.  You must be cold.  This weather lately,” she comments shaking her head.  Mrs Hudson steps back to allow Naomi into the entranceway.

“Care for a cuppa?  It’ll help warm you up.”

“That sounds lovely.  Thank-you.  Is he in?” she asks casting her eyes upward.

“He is,” the landlady replies tentatively.  “But he’s in a bit of a mood, so maybe another time?  You can sit with me down here instead?”

Naomi looks warmly at the other woman.  “I’ll take my chances, but thank-you for the warning.”

“Okay.  I’ll bring your tea up in a bit then.  See how you’re getting on.”

Naomi slowly climbs the stairs, taking her time.  She takes her coat off, and drapes it over her arm before knocking on his door.  It swings open on its hinges.  “Do you never shut your door?” she inquires, stepping inside.

“Why should I when everyone else closes it for me?”

“Where are you?” Naomi calls as she sets her coat on the arm of the couch.

“Kitchen.”

She stands in the archway watching him mix liquids from different beakers.  She unwinds the scarf from her neck.  “Should we crack a window?” she asks, watching a bit of gas escape one of the beakers.

“Shh.”

She steps away, and drapes her scarf over her coat.  She sits down on the sofa, putting her bag in her lap.  Digging out her notepad and pencil she takes in her surroundings.  It doesn’t look any tidier than last time, though the piles have moved around. 

Naomi sets her bag by her feet and grabs a book off the coffee table.  The spine reads “The Anatomy of Mammalian Quadrupeds”.  Intrigued, she flips through a few pages.

“It gets a bit dull in the middle, but is well written.”

She looks up to see Sherlock watching her.  Naomi smiles at him, and sets the book back down.  “I’ll take your word for it.”

He collapses into the wingback chair and shuts his eyes.  He looks exhausted.

“I **_can_** come back if you need to lie down.”

He sighs, but ignores her concern.  “Haven’t seen you in a few months.  How are the book sales coming along?”

“Do you really care?”

“No.”

She laughs and he opens his eyes, studying her.  That was not the reaction he expected.  “I’ve changed my mind,” he states.  “I do care.”

“I don’t think you do, but I’ll tell you anyways,” Naomi cheerfully retorts.  “Well enough, thank-you.  I didn’t expect a best seller, so I’m not disappointed.  The reviews are what I like the best.  Everyone seems to appreciate the level of detail, so thank-you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You know…  Mrs Hudson warned me you were in a bad mood.  I disagree.  You seem very pleasant today.”

“As compared with last time?  Why did you come back?  To get more material?”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“I thought that’d please you.”

He sits up some.  “Right.  Fine.  So what are we working on today?  The sequel?”  Naomi opens her mouth to respond, but he cuts her off, leaning forward to observe her better.  “No,” he states flatly.  “You’re not certain there will be a sequel.  Why?  You said the book was doing well.  Well enough anyways, but that’s not good enough for your publisher.  Oh, I take it back.  It’s not good enough for you.”

“It’s not that,” Naomi mutters.

“Mmm.  You’re right.  You don’t think you’re good enough.  Ah.  Hit the nail on the head with that one.”  He slumps back again.  “I’m sure it will be fine.  Pitch me the sequel, and I’ll try not to tell you how bad I really think it is.”

“I don’t have an idea for one yet.  And that’s not why I’m here.”

“No, you’re right.  You’re here for another project.  Back to your short stories are you?”

“Yes.”

“Probably for the best,” Holmes tsks.

“Have you read my book?  Can you judge it so harshly without taking a look at it?” Naomi counters.

A smile splits Sherlock’s face, there’s mischief in his eyes.  He abruptly stands up and walks away from her.  He snatches something up, and spins back to her.  “You mean this book?”

She sits back, astonished. 

“Ah, yes.  I’ve read this book.  From cover to cover as a matter of fact.  I’ve also read some of your magazine articles, and a short story here and there.”

She breaks into a grin.  Her face softly glowing, no malice in her question, “And you hated them all, is that it?”

“I didn’t love them, but no.  I found parts of them rather good.”

She grins wider.  “Thank-you.  Will you help me fix some of the older works?”

“Trying to publish your own anthology?”

Naomi nods.

“Alright.”  Sherlock sits back down, and they begin.

************

 

“You know, I think I’m going to be sad for a while,” Naomi muses as she stifles a yawn.

“Really?  I find that hard to believe.  I think you’ll find yourself happy to be relieved of my company,” Sherlock insists.

She gives him a sleepy smile, and he helps her into her coat.  “Thank-you.”  She buttons it up and winds her scarf around her neck.  “And you’re wrong.  It’s been fun getting to know you these past few weeks.  You’ve helped me a lot.  I’m only sorry that I don’t have more stories to work on right now.”

“I **_do_** have other duties to get on to.  I can’t babysit you all day,” he tartly mutters.

Her smile widens, and she gives him a peck on the cheek.  “I’m going to pretend that you said you’ll miss me too.”

“You’re quite mistaken,” he stiffly states.

“Well, if you want to pop in to say hi to me, I work at the little diner on …”

“Yes, I know where.”

“Of course, you do.”  She wants to kiss him again, but resists the urge.  She’s not sure that he appreciated the first one.  “Goodnight then, Mr Holmes.”

“Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” Naomi whispers as he opens the door for her. 

He quickly places a kiss on her cheek before she turns away.  “Night, Miss Wess.”

*************

 

(Present Day)

John had to wait hours and another taxi ride, this one heading home, before Sherlock finally gave him the abridged version on how he and Naomi had met.

Watson welcomed the story after the grisly scene they had witnessed earlier.  He hoped with Sherlock’s brilliant mind they’d catch the culprit soon.  The killer had already murdered two people and left their corpses quite mutilated.  Scotland Yard was having a difficult time finding witnesses or identifying the bodies because of the state they were in.  Thankfully, Holmes was able to provide them with a few clues they could to look into.

Dragging his mind back to the story, Watson asks, “It sounds to me like you were sending her mixed signals.  Was that on purpose?”

“How so?”

“You were your typical rude self to her, but then kept helping her.  And when she was done needing you, you were short with her, then kissed her, only to call her ‘Miss Wess’.  Did you not know how you felt?”

“I knew.”

“But you like messing with people.”

“But I like messing with people.”


	4. Chapter 4

(The Past)

“Good Afternoon, Sir.  Ma’am.  Could I get you something to drink?”

Sherlock sets his menu down and looks to his companion.  “Water for me, unless you have Brandy, and a tea for her.”

“We don’t serve alcohol until after 3, owner’s decision.  I’ll be right back with those.  Give the menu a once over.  Our specials are on the leaflet.”  Naomi walks away to fetch the drinks.

When she comes back, she sets the cups down, hating that she’s interrupting them, but she always hates doing that with any customer.  “Were you ready?” she asks meekly.  “I can come back.”

“Nonsense,” Sherlock exclaims.  “I’ll have the Number 5 with a bowl of soup, and… I’m sorry what was your name again?” he asks his companion.

Naomi rolls her eyes as the woman states her name.  _Did he really forget, or is he just trying to get a rise out of me?_

“Right.  And Yolanda will have the #3 with chips,” Holmes finishes.

“I didn’t tell you what I’d like,” Yolanda grumbles.

“Oh, didn’t you?” Sherlock pretends to be upset about his blunder.  “Then what would you like?”

Yolanda looks over the menu, flipping it over twice before responding.  “What he said.”  She smiles sweetly at Naomi, who plasters a fake smile on in return.

After she walks away to put their orders in, Sherlock tucks the menus back into their holder on the table.  “Now where were we?”

“Uhh… you were asking about my boss’s schedule.  I think we made it to last Tuesday.”

“Yes, very good.  What did he do the rest of the week?”

*************

 

“Will there be anything else?” Naomi asks.

“The bill,” Holmes curtly tells her.

Naomi rips the paper off of the pad and sets it down gently, not wanting him to know how much he’s irritated her today; though she guesses he knows anyways.  “Let me clear these plates for you.  You can pay at the register or I can take a card when I come back.  No rush,” she smiles sweetly, anger in her eyes.

“No need.  Here.”  Sherlock hands her two £20 notes.  Naomi takes them, staring at the money for a moment, mentally calculating the change. 

“I’ll be right back with your £13.53.”

“Keep it.  And take this.”  He holds up the receipt paper, which she gingerly slips out of his grasp. 

“Thank-you,” she replies hesitantly.  “Enjoy your day.”

“Yes.  It’s been… delightful,” he gives his companion a quick, but patronizing smile as they exit.  Yolanda doesn’t notice, but Naomi does.

Naomi puts the money and paper into her apron pocket, then begins clearing the table.  Once she’s done, she heads over to the register to give Ralph the bill and payment.  He rings in the order, and gives her the change, which she puts in her own pocket.

“You want this?” Ralph asks holding the receipt.

“Umm… no.”

“Got a message on it for you.”

“For me?  Are you sure?”

“Says ‘Naomi’,” Ralph replies, glancing at the paper to double check.  “Yep.”

“Thank-you.”  She takes it.  It reads “ _Naomi, pop by, 7.30_ ”

************

 

Mrs Hudson opens the door, letting Naomi in.  “I just took him his supper, but I believe he’s waiting on someone.  You?” the older woman asks hopefully.

“I suppose,” Naomi responds unsure, before heading up.

The door is ajar so she lets herself in.  She smell of food wafts in from behind her.  She sets her coat and scarf down on the corner of the sofa, and moves to the kitchen.  Two chairs have been pushed up to the table.  The clutter has been haphazardly shoved to one side.

Naomi smiles at Sherlock, who’s sitting there, observing her.

“Is this your girlfriend’s doing?  Shouldn’t she be here to enjoy this?  Yolanda, right?”

“She had to get back home,” he shrugs.  “Something about three kids and a husband to take care of.”

“Shame.  It looks delish.  I bet she’s a good cook.”

“She might be.  I suppose we won’t know.  This is Mrs Hudson’s doing.”

“You’re very spoiled, you know?” 

“Am I?” he asks, putting some food on a plate for her, then for himself.

Naomi settles herself into the other chair.  “You are.  I’ve heard Mrs Hudson often say she’s not your maid, yet she cooks for you, lets your guests in, serves them, and entertains them while they wait for you.”

“Don’t forget she cleans up after me.”

“Does she?”  Naomi glances around.  “Not to be rude, but it doesn’t show.”

Sherlock laughs at her comment.  “You’ll have to forgive her.  She does her best, but I’m afraid I make a mess faster than she can straighten it.”

“I believe that,” she replies as she takes a bite from her meal.  “Mmm… this **_is_** delicious.”

Sherlock also takes a bite, nodding his head in agreement.  “I concede.  You are right.  She does spoil me.”

They spend the rest of the meal discussing the case he’s working on, including the fact that his ‘lunch date’ was actually an informant, much to Naomi’s delight.

She lets him know that she’s nearly done with her anthology, and thanks him again for his help, but he dismisses her gratitude.

She sets her fork down and looks at him. 

“What?  Either there’s food on my face, or you want to know something.”

“Are you guessing or do you know?” she inquires.

He sighs.  “You want to know…  why I don’t simply say ‘you’re welcome’.  Am I conceited?  Humble?  Maybe I don’t think you’re sincere?”

“No, I don’t think so.  Perhaps you don’t like praise, which is odd since you love proving to people how smart you are.  Why don’t you take credit for your insight?”

“Don’t I?”

“I don’t think you do.  I could have mentioned your name in my book, but you made it seem as if it was an inconvenience, so I didn’t.”

“I have enough fame, and receive more than my share of accolades.  I don’t need anymore,” he shrugs.

“You are defiantly different, Sherlock.”

“Are you praising me or insulting me?”

Naomi raises an eyebrow and gives him a wicked grin, “Clearly insulting you, since you said you receive more than enough praise.”

He smiles at her, and chuckles to himself.  “Touché.”

After a few quiet moments, Naomi pushes her chair back, and stands up.  Sherlock follows suit.  “Shall I help you clean up before I go?” she offers.

“No.  Mrs Hudson will help tomorrow.”

“Right.  Of course.”  Naomi walks to the other room to grab her things.

“Perhaps, if you haven’t grown weary of me yet, you’d accompany me somewhere next week,” he asks.

“Oh, where’s that?”

“A play.  I was given tickets as thanks for clearing this woman’s son of wrongdoing.  I was going to go alone, and keep the extra ticket as a buffer, should someone try to sit by me.”

“Clever.  Now you can use me as a human shield.  I promise to make sure no one tries to converse with you.”

“I welcome the company then.”  He moves to his desk, and Naomi puts on her coat and scarf.  He comes back over a moment later, handing her a ticket.  “All of the information is on there.  I will meet you out front.  Don’t be late.”

“Or you’ll sit with someone else?”

“I might.  But only to spite you.”

Naomi laughs and places a chaste kiss on his cheek.  “I’ll be on time.”

************

 

Sherlock places a hand on the small of her back and escorts her out of the theater.  They step onto the sidewalk and turn in the direction of Baker Street.  Naomi shivers involuntarily.  It has been warming up during the day, but the nights are still chilly.  She figured the theater would be warm enough, so she left her coat at home.

“Are we not taking a taxi?” she asks.

“We’re not far, and your shoes are fit for walking.”

She sighs and follows alongside him.  To distract herself from the night air, she talks about the play.  “That was fairly good.  I wasn’t sure what to expect.  The reviews were about 50/50.”

“Yes.  I rather enjoyed it.”

“I’ve seen the woman who played the sister before.  It was in another play a couple of years ago.  Glad to see she’s still acting.  I rather like her.”

“She has a nice voice, and did well bringing her character to life,” he agrees.

At the end of the block they stop for a car.  Naomi slowly runs her hands over her arms, trying to be discreet.

Once it’s clear, they cross the street; continuing along.  Holmes shrugs out of his overcoat, and holds it out in front of Naomi.  He does so without breaking stride, and all while continuing to face forward.  She takes it from him, a grin and a blush spreading across her face.

She slips it on and takes a deep breath of his scent, snuggling into the warm fabric.  He catches the act out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t make a comment.  His heart, however, does skip a beat.

“Umm,” Naomi starts, trying to get her brain back on track.  “The musical numbers were fairly good as well.  I didn’t like the third one, though.  The one on the balcony.”

“That was the fourth, and I agree.  It was too staccato for my taste.  Made the actors sound angry instead of sad.”

“Yes, that one.  And thank-you.”

“There were several musical numbers, it’s easy to forget their order.”

“No.  Thank-you for the coat.  That was sweet,” she murmurs. 

He clears his throat.  “Right.  Good,” he responds still not looking at her.

Her smiles widens as she watches his awkward display.  Feeling bold, Naomi reaches down and grasps his hand, entwining their fingers.  He doesn’t pull away.

They hold hands and walk in relative silence the last few blocks before arriving at his doorstep.

As they approach, they start to slow down, and fully stop once they are under the glow of the porch light.

“Will you call me a cab?” Naomi whispers, keeping her eyes downcast.  Her cheeks feel warm and her heart is beating quickly.  He can read her (and everyone else) too easily, so she tries to minimize what he sees.

He looks down at her, then to the sky, debating on his next course of action.  She’s still holding his hand, and wearing his overcoat. 

“Yes, I can.  But will you wait out here in the cold, or would you prefer to step inside?”

She grins, and tries to keep her expectations low.  She’s merely relieved that he’s not trying to get rid of her so quickly.

“Inside please.  Then I can give you your coat back,” she replies smiling up at him. 

He swears his heart stops for a beat or two when her eyes lock onto his.  His mouth feels dry, and when he talks he sounds deeper, more gravely.  “Good.  And I’ll pour us a bit of brandy while we wait.”

He leads her in and up to his flat.  They walk quietly to keep from disturbing Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock closes and latches his door once they are inside, and helps Naomi out of the overcoat, before tossing it onto a nearby pile of books.

“Do you ever put anything away?” she playfully admonishes him.

“Once or twice.  It’s definitely an anomaly when I do.  Do you prefer neat or on the rocks?  Or perhaps something else to drink?” he asks, moving to find two clean glasses.

“On the rocks, please,” Naomi responds.  She takes in the familiar room.  Though she was here a week ago, it has been awhile since she was a regular guest.  She misses it.

She hears him shoving various items around in the kitchen, and takes the opportunity to rifle through a few of the items on his desk; curiosity getting the better of her.

“You’re very nosy.”

Naomi drops a piece of paper back down, and spins around, a guilty look on her face.

Sherlock steps to her.  He presses her glass into her hand, and picks up the paper she discarded.  He scans it and sets it back down.

“A few notes I jotted down from two cases ago.”  He moves over to the sofa, and beckons her to join him.  “You need only ask.  Look through whatever you want.  Some of it may even make more sense to you than me.”

“Oh, are you saying I’m smarter than you now?” she teases, and she sits down next to him.

He snorts at her suggestion.  “Of course not.  I’m simply stating that there are more scraps of paper covered in half-finished thoughts than I care to admit.  They don’t mean anything to me anymore.”

Naomi takes a sip of her drink, letting the liquid warm her insides.  “Always so polite, then rude, then polite again.  Do you do it to keep people guessing?  Because you don’t really care what they think?  Or is it unintentional?”

Sherlock gently swirls his snifter of brandy, breathes in its aroma, then takes a taste.  He shifts a bit so he’s facing her better.  “Which answer do you prefer?”

“I think you already know which answer I prefer, just like you know the answers to any other question you think of.”  She watches him, hoping he doesn’t take her as being rude.  She’s simply trying to adopt his demeanor.

A small smile forms on his face, and he contemplates her reply.  “Mmm,” he comments, taking another sip of his drink.  She does the same.  “I suppose I do it for all of the reasons you’ve mentioned.  Have I offended you?”

“No.  I find you fascinating.”

His smile widens slightly, and a gleam forms in his eyes.  He takes a strand of her hair and lets it pass through his fingers, before softly dropping it back down.  Her eyes follow his every movement as her pupils slowly dilate.  He sets his glass on the coffee table, and leans towards her.  She stays perfectly still as his face gets closer. 

“Fascinating is not an adjective I often hear when people describe me.”  His breath fans across her cheek, and her eyes slide shut.  Her breathing deepens, and she unconsciously wets her lips. 

He studies her reaction to him, placing the tips of his fingers above her heart, before ghosting his lips across hers.  Her eyes open at this gesture, confusion stamped across her face.

“So I can feel your heartbeat,” he explains.

Naomi nods slowly at his statement.  The air is thick, and it’s hard to breathe.  He’s so close, and the scent of him is intoxicating.  She finds herself leaning towards him now that’s he’s pulled back a little.  She wants to feel how warm he is.

He slides his hand along the back of her neck, and under her hair.  Her heart beats harder at his tender touch.  He uses this position to pull her face to his as he kisses her sweetly.  His other hand falls away from her chest to remove the glass from her grip.  Keeping his lips pressed to hers, he sets her drink down beside his.

He puts his hand on her waist, and pulls her towards him.  Her mouth parts as things become more intimate.  Sherlock wastes no time in deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing against hers.  A soft moan escapes her.

He pulls her even closer, giving him enough room to lay her down on the cushions.  She goes quite willingly too.  He settles his torso on hers, his fingers tangling in her hair.  The sound of low groans and panting fill the flat, their tongues tasting each other. 

The hand that was on her waist finds its way to the helm of her shirt, and slips beneath the fabric.  Her muscles jump and quiver as he glides his fingers up towards her breast.  He settles his palm over her bra and she arches into his hand.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back to see her, and to take in some much needed air.  His eyes are lustful, as are hers.  “Shall we take this to the bedroom?” he suggests. 

Naomi nods enthusiastically. 

Sherlock abruptly stands up.  He extends his hand, which she quickly takes, and he yanks her to her feet.  She laughs and he joins in, dragging her towards his bedroom.  He pauses at the door, and presses her body flush to his, kissing her deeply once more before flinging open his door, and dragging her inside.


	5. Chapter 5

(Present Day)

John comes down as Mrs Hudson comes up with a tray of tea and scones. 

“Let me,” Watson says, holding the door open for the landlady.

“Thank-you,” she replies.  She sets the tray down on the coffee table, and turns to go.

“You’re not staying?” Watson asks. 

“No, not for morning tea.”  She nods towards the bedroom door.  “He’ll be up in a bit to keep you company.”

John pours some tea for himself, and grabs a scone.  He sits down, unfolding the paper he brought with him.  Roughly five minutes later a groggy Sherlock steps out of his bedroom.  He has on a matching set of pajamas, and slippers on his feet.  He runs a hand through his disheveled locks.

“How kind of you to make me tea, Watson.”

“But I didn…”

“Mmm, and scones.  Is that today’s paper?”

“Um, yes.”

Sherlock pours himself some tea, takes a scone and sits in his chair, opposite John.  Watson goes back to reading the paper.  Holmes takes the opportunity to scan the articles he can see.

“May I borrow your phone?”

“Where’s yours?” John asks, peering over the paper.

“Is the other room.”

John begrudgingly hands his mobile over.

“I need to make a social call to a rather sordid person later today, and then check to see how the Inspector’s getting on.  Will you be coming along?” Holmes inquires as he dials a number.

“I have to pop off to the clinic for a few hours this morning, but I can join you later.”

“Good,” he tells John while he listens for the caller to answer the phone.  She picks up on the third ring.  “That troupe you like is back in town.  Fancy joining me tomorrow night?   …   Yes, she leant me her phone.  …  No, she doesn’t know I’m taking you out.  …  Oh, she would most assuredly be jealous.  …  Right.  Well, then I’ll purchase a pair of tickets as soon as I hang up.  …  Of course.”  Sherlock disconnects, and hands the mobile back to John.

“Naomi?” Watson assumes.

“Yes.”

“Why let her believe you have other girlfriends?  Or is this an inside joke with the two of you?”

“Ah.  The real question is why does **_she_** keep making it a joke? **_I_** simply go along with it.”

“Okay then.  Why does she?” Watson asks.

“Because she’s insecure about our relationship, which makes her worry.  She doesn’t want to be so bold as to ask me directly if I’m cheating, or if I’m interested in someone else, so she makes light of it.”

John rolls his eyes.  “I already figured that.  And if you know how it makes her feel, it begs the question… why don’t you just tell her the truth?  You fancy her, and you’re not with anyone else.  Is that really so difficult to say?”

Sherlock glances away, a serious look on his face.  “Perhaps it’s because I’m not ready to tell her what she really wants to hear.”

“Ah,” Watson sighs.  “That you love her?”

“You can be annoying sometimes, you know?” Sherlock sneers at the doctor.

“Particularly when I’m right and you don’t want me to be?”

Holmes just slumps in his chair, sulking, while Watson laughs.

************ 

 

The main door opens as Sherlock and Naomi tumble in; a gust of wind follows them.  Naomi turns and pushes the door shut as Mrs Hudson emerges from her flat.

“Quite blustery tonight,” the landlady comments.  “The wind pulled the door right out of my hand earlier.  How was the play?”

“Amusing,” Sherlock remarks, fixing his scarf.

“Good, except for this one whispering spoilers in my ear,” Naomi retorts, straightening her hair.

“You **_cannot_** tell me that it wasn’t obvious who the killer was.”

“Oh.  Was it one of those who-done-its?  I love those,” exclaims Mrs Hudson.

“It was,” replies Holmes.  He gently steers Naomi towards the stairs.

“Anyone care for a spot of tea?” the landlady calls.

“Yes please,” Naomi answers over the railing.  They continue climbing the stairs; Sherlock’s hand on her lower back.

No sooner are they in his flat when Naomi finds herself pressed firmly between Holmes and the door.  His lips crash down on hers, her hips pulled up against his.  A moan escapes her as his tongue slides in.

His hands work at pulling the bottom of her dress up, which falls down to her knees. 

Naomi breaks the kiss, turning her head to the side.  Sherlock latches onto her neck, sucking and nipping urgently.  He slides a leg between hers, parting her thighs.

“Mrs Hudson won’t take long,” Naomi pants.

“I don’t need long,” Sherlock growls back as he finds the top of her panties, and shoves them down.

Naomi lets out a small, surprised laugh, and steps out of her underwear.  “Feisty,” she smirks at him.

************

 

By the time Mrs Hudson arrives with the tea and snacks, Sherlock and Naomi are presentable and sitting on the sofa together.  Naomi softly laughs at a story Holmes is telling her.

Once Mrs Hudson comes by the coffee table, Sherlock stands and takes the tray from the landlady, setting it down and pouring everyone their tea.

“Thank-you,” Mrs Hudson says, as she takes her drink and finds a place to sit.

“Room for one more?” Watson asks at the doorway.

“Seems Mrs Hudson thought so since there’s an extra cup,” Sherlock remarks, quirking an eyebrow at the older woman who simply smiles back.

***********

 

“He’s not going to walk you out today?” Watson asks on the stairs.

Naomi, not expecting to run into someone so soon, squeaks out, “No.  I told him to sleep in.”

“Are you heading home?  We could share a cab.  I have to pop down to the clinic for a bit.”

“That would be nice.  Thank-you, John,” Naomi beams at him.

They exit the building and hail a cab.

Once they’re settled into a taxi, Watson decides to broach a subject that has plagued him for some time.  “If I may ask… how long have you and Holmes been together?  He told me how you meet, but didn’t specify a timeline.”

Naomi grins at him.  “Nearly two years.”

“Then, and forgive my intrusion, but why have I only met you recently?  I’ve known Sherlock for going on six months now.”

Naomi shifts her gaze, watching the traffic outside of the window.  She seems sad.

“You don’t have to answer,” Watson offers.

She sighs.  “No it’s fine.  The first few months I kept away because Sherlock asked me to.”  She looks at him for a moment before looking out of the window again.  “He told me he had a new flatmate.  I didn’t ask for any details and assumed that he finally decided I wasn’t enough.”  She frowns and falls quiet for a bit.  The cab continues to weave through the congestion.

After a few blocks, Naomi speaks up again.  “He did keep ringing me often, though, and would stop by my place, but still…”

“If you thought he was cheating,” Watson asks quietly, “why did you stay with him?  Or at the very least, confront him?”

Naomi looks at him with a sad smile on her face, embarrassment staining her cheeks.  “I was hoping it wasn’t true,” she shrugs.  “Besides I never asked him, and… and it helped that I ran into Mrs Hudson not long after you moved in.  I didn’t ask her about you because I didn’t want her to confirm my suspicions.  But…  Well, she was just as pleasant to me as she had always been, and worried about why I hadn’t been around lately.  The fact that she didn’t seem to see a reason for me not to come by gave me hope that I was wrong.”

“You two really should sit and talk.  Have a proper chat.  I think it’d be best for you both.  Really.”

A genuine smile warms Naomi’s face.  “I’m glad he has you as a friend, John.”

“We’re acquaintances,” he mutters.

“Perhaps you two should also have a proper chat,” Naomi teases.  “Admit you’re both friends.”

************

 

“This was nice,” Naomi comments as they stroll around the park.  “What made you decide to meet me for lunch?”

“I was nearby,” Sherlock admits.  “There was a witness I needed to follow up on.”

“So… not a clandestine meeting with your fiancé?” Naomi jokes.

Sherlock starts to make a remark about how his meeting with his fiancé was for later in the day, but stops himself.  Instead, he moves the two of them towards a bench, pulling Naomi down to sit beside him.  She frowns at him, unsure about the recent shift in his mood.

“No sly retort?” she questions.

He plants a kiss on her temple, then looks her in the eyes.  “Watson seems to think that I should be honest with you.”

“And you aren’t now?”

“I’d say I am, but he disagrees.”

“Oh.  Okay.”  Naomi slightly shifts away from him, pulling her hands into her lap.  “What are you dishonest about?” she asks cautiously.

“You’re misreading the situation,” he states.  He sees how she’s retreating into herself, and trying to distance him.

“And how **_should I_ **read the situation?”  Her words are more clipped than she means them to be.

“Not the way you are.  You think I’m trying to end the relationship.  That perhaps that’s why I picked to meet you during the day… in a crowded place.”

“Did you?”  She casts him a suspicious look, and gently wrings her hands together, barely aware that she’s doing so.

“No,” he replies, setting his hand over hers.  Confusion now clouds her face.  “I really was nearby, and thought it best to surprise you.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”  He moves his hand away, and sits up straighter, blowing out a puff of air.  “I’m usually not at a loss for words, but I’m finding it difficult to say what I need to.”  Sherlock looks at her.  “Naomi.  There are no other women, and there haven’t been.  No girlfriends.  No fiancées.  No wives to take me away from you.  Just the occasional murder case.”

Her face scrunches up some.  “Have you mentioned a wife before?”

“No, but I don’t have one.”

“Good,” she nods.

He takes a breath.  “I can’t promise that we won’t grow tired of each other someday, but I don’t foresee that for quite some time.  You?”

“No.”

“Good,” he grins at her.  “Based on how your affection for me has grown so far, I feel it’s safe to say it’ll be a good 20 years before you tire of me, and… 40 years for me, give or take.  Does that sound about right to you?”

A thoroughly perplexed Naomi just nods her head.  She’s hearing everything she’s wanted to hear, but isn’t quite sure she’s not dreaming right now.

“Wonderful,” Sherlock interjects, standing up.  He extends his hand, which she slowly takes.  He pulls her up, and continuing to hold her hand, resumes their walk, though in the opposite direction.

Her head still foggy, Naomi asks, “Where are we going?”

“Your lunch hour is almost up.  I think Ralph would appreciate it if I returned you back to the diner.”

“Yes, of course.”

Sherlock lifts their hands up and places a kiss on hers, before dropping them back down.  He watches her out of the corner of his eye.  “A lot to take in?”

“Yes.  Forty years you say?”

“Mmm.  Give or take.”

“And the wife you mentioned…  she won’t mind if I keep you for that long?”

“I think she can spare to be without me for a bit.”

“Great,” Naomi says, a wide grin spreading across her face.  She turns and plants a quick kiss on Sherlock’s cheek.  He grabs her and gives her a more thorough kiss.  “I…” she starts, “I think I’ll have to thank Watson for encouraging this talk.”

“Not with a kiss, I hope,” Sherlock cautions.

Naomi chuckles at him.  “I think a friendly hug will suffice.”


End file.
